My Journey to Becoming Myself

So on February 23 of 2014, I walked to the CVS by my school and bought one of the thick ace bandages for wrapping your knee, drove home, and did drag for the first time. It was a small guilty pleasure I’d been denying myself for a really long time, and with the whirlwind of thoughts in my head, I let down my fears and just did it. I looked terrible. I was wearing a cheap neon green party wig that was cut like a pixie cut and a green homestuck shirt, but I looked in the mirror and began to uncontrollably sob.

In that moment, I admitted to myself that I was not a girl. Finally, who I was in my head had some iteration on the outside, and I needed it to stay that way. Before that moment, I couldn’t imagine next week, much less next month or next year. But when I looked in the mirror, I could see a way out of the darkness.

That was the beginning of a long journey full of labels, confusion and dealing with trauma that lead me to where I am today, three years later. I came out to my friends within a month. I couldn’t stand to be called “she” anymore. First it was ny/nym/nyr, then, when nobody could get the hang of it, they/them/their, and then, in the fall of 2015, he/him/his. I went from agender to genderfluid to just plain old nonbinary to a binary trans guy to a nonbinary trans guy. I finally got on T after 2 years and seven months of struggling (I didn’t want to go on T initially). I had to work through the fact that I was a man even though I didn’t want to be. I had to learn to feel again, and learn from those feelings.

But I still feel hopeless sometimes. Especially today. I was looking at photos with friends and I realized that I look exactly like I did when I was 14, over a year before I came out. All that’s changed is my hair and the fact that I trained my voice down (but not low enough to pass). It feels like a lost cause a lot, honestly. My dysphoria interferes with everything in my life, and it makes it hard to get out of bed sometimes. And there’s nothing I can do.

But my friends love me, and I have a family that I chose, even if I can never tell my parents that I went on T (I mean they’ll find out eventually but still). I guess I just need to remember that even if the Commander and Cheeto of the USA takes away all my rights, I’ll still have them. They give me strength, even when we’re not together, even when we haven’t spoken in months, even when I don’t feel like they’re there. I know that my community has my back. And I love them

Happy Birthday to Me. I’m only just 3. I had to go back and restart puberty. 😛